


A New Dawn

by StrangerInTheAlps7



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInTheAlps7/pseuds/StrangerInTheAlps7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst the pool of blood a roses, a second promise was made...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Dawn

“Our plot died along with the prince.” The Red Viper raged, pacing across the white marble floor. “The fat king, like the coward he is, sent his knives upon the boy, did he not? The craven struck in the dead of night…”

“No,” Arthur sighed. _We can lay many sins at the feet of Robert Baratheon, but not the death of that fool who thought himself a king_. “The boy’s death was his own doing. I won him the Golden Company, and in return, the idiot decided go and get his throat cut open by a Bravo.” 

The Red Viper ceased his slithering. “Braavos, you say?”

“Aye, Braavos. For the first time since I joined their ranks, the Golden Company found themselves without a contract. I did as you instructed,” Arthur inclined his head towards the gout stricken bag of flesh sitting before him—the man he once recognized as his liege lord. 

_No, I wore white and swore my first vow to a king. I swore my second vow to his son. I swore my last vows to his lady. Though they are all long dead, their ghosts never fail to remind me._

Arthur banished the specters of past sins from his mind, continuing the sad tale of Viserys. “I sent word to Pentos, informing Viserys of our willingness to take up arms for his claim. Apparently, informing him ahead of time was a mistake, for I found him on the docks of Braavos in less then a fortnight.” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat and drank greedily from his glass of water. Even at the Water Gardens, where the brisk ocean breeze tempered the oppressive glare of the Dornish sun, the heat felt unbearable. _I killed for coin under the sweltering sands of Essos, yet here in my homeland, my flesh now cooks in earnest_. Fourteen years of lies and secrets changed him. _I became as Northern as my prince_.

Sated, Arthur continued, “After only a few hours in his company, many of the men began to lose faith. The boy knew little of politics and even less about war. The damn fool wanted to take King’s Landing by storm. When Myle Toyne refused, the boy went into a rage, frothing at the mouth and babbling on about dragons.”

As Arthur spoke, the Red Viper made his way back to his chair. He interrupted, “And what of this kingslaying Braavosi?”

Despite himself, Arthur felt a morbid smile spread across his face. “Later that day, “King” Viserys came across a puppet show depicting the Titan of Braavos throttling a Dragon of old Valyeria. Though the boy prattled on and on about the histories of House Targaryen, he knew little of the Valyrian Freehold, apparently. Considering that slave’s fleeing the flames founded Braavos, a man may see seven such shows of mummery in a single day. At this particular show, a woman commanded the paper dragon with sticks and thread. The boy took offense to this and, when he went to cut her throat, he drew a sword, a nearby bravo drew his, and moments later your king laid in a puddle of his own blood.” _So died Viserys Targaryen, third of His Name, and the true seed of Mad King._

Oberyn Martell smiled, his mercurial temper seemingly abated. Arthur, however, knew that a viper always smiles before it spits its venom. “How convenient for you. With the true heir now dead, you can put forth your own bastard boy. Surely, he will give you a new white cloak, for you unfortunately sullied the last one with my sister’s blood.”

 _I swore an oath, dear prince_. “The Targaryen prince is a bastard, true, but he is not my bastard. And as for Elia, I mourned for her, my prince, but I stood guard at the Tower of Joy while the Loin’s monsters sacked King’s Landing.”

“Yes, you stood guard over the whore that shamed my sister,” though his face remained placid, Arthur saw the fire behind his dark eyes. “You watched as the realm burned. All for Prince Rhaegar—may he now burn in all seven hells.”

 _Hold your tongue, snake_. “If you demand justice against Prince Rhaegar, I assure you, Robert Baratheon gave it to him at the Trident. Perhaps you should go a swear fealty to him in thanks for killing the monster who dishonored your beloved Elia. While you kiss his ring, I will dull out justice for the bloodied babes that so-called king wrapped in cloaks of crimson.”

At the mention of Rhaenys and Aegon, Oberyn face grew dark, “you dare speak their names, you—“ 

“Enough!” Doran voice reverberated off the walls, drowning out the cries of laughter that coming from outside. 

Since the death of his sister, Doran spurned his family seat in Sunspear in favor of the cool ocean breeze and gayety offered by the Water Gardens. _In this room we plot treason_ , Arthur thought, _while children dance and play just outside these walls. Surely, this coming war will make orphans of them all._

“Brother, Ser Arthur Dayne is not our enemy nor did his hand play a role in the murder of our family.” Now Doran spoke with a voice as sweet as honey, though Arthur doubted every word. _He blames me for their deaths, as is only right. I put vows before honor and closed my eyes to the world_. “But you both forget: Viserys has a sister and I still have a son.”

_How many dragons must we sacrifice upon your fires?_

“Daenerys stayed in Pentos while her brother died in the streets of Braavos. By now the Cheese Merchant has bartered her off to some horse lord, no doubt. A man driven solely by gold cares little about whether this man or that man sits the Iron Throne, so long as he recoups his investment.” Arthur replied. 

“Ah yes I believe he did intend to sell her off to some savage, that is until I offered to take the young girl off his hands.” Though Doran Martell smiled innocently enough, Arthur saw a flame in his eyes as well. _The Rep Viper burns like a candle compared to scorched sun of House Martell._

“My son Quentyn makes for Pentos from Yornwood as we speak. He will escort his future bride to my shores then, in a few short years, we will all have our justice.” Content, the flame faded as Doran’s heavy eyelids relaxed. 

“You bring her to Westeros? Assassins and cutthroats will come swarming from beyond the Red Mountains.” 

“She will not come into my house as Daenerys Stormborn, I assure you.” Prince Doran smiled sheepishly, “Did you ever find your way to Tyrosh while you served as a sell sword? You see, they dye their hair all sorts of strange colors, perhaps to honor their heathen goods or maybe just to make life a little more interesting.”

“You mean to disguise her.” Arthur realized. 

“The safest course of action, don’t you agree?” the old Prince chuckled, “When did you last happen upon a mirror, Ser Arthur Dayne? The last time I saw you, you were side by side with my late uncle, with your pale blond hair shinning underneath the Dornish sun. Women across the Seven Kingdoms fawned over the Sword of the Morning.” 

The utterance of that name reopened wounds long thought closed. _Did my title live on? Who now wields my sword? Who now carries my curse?_

Prince Doran spoke the truth: the man Arthur saw in the mirror never won tourneys or served kings. Since uttering his last promise, the Sword of Morning put down his ancestral blade. Now, he died his hair and thick beard a dark brown. A worn leather patch covered his left eye. A Northman took it at the point of a sword, leaving behind a ghastly scar as a parting gift. Men from his own house even welcomed him to shore upon his arrival, though they only saw a stranger. _The Sword of the Morning died along with his brothers. He died along with his queen._

“Well I’m glad we will still get at least one dragon, brother,” Oberyn leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his jet-black hair lined with streaks silver. “But what of sweet Arianne? We meant for her to become a queen, but I highly doubt she will enjoy the bed of a corpse.”

“Ah yes, Arrianne.” Prince Doran sighed a the mention of his first born, “her betrothed makes for Sunspear as we speak.”

 _He already sent word to another suitor?_ A jolt shot through Author, setting his very skin alight. An icy wave of realization swept over him. _He already knew of Viserys’ demise_. Though the Red Viper remained silent, his tightly clinched jaw told Arthur that he just realized the same. Arthur felt a strange mix of fear and admiration as he looked back towards the gout-ridden prince. _The whole realm thinks this man a sheep as he quietly sharpens his teeth._

“House Stark will arrive at Sunspear within the week, which means that I must return to my seat of power, I’m afraid.”

 _No, impossible. Ned despises the game of thrones. He knows the sting of loss when kings and princes take what they want. Surely, he would not hand over Robb to serve as just another pawn._ “House Stark you say, my prince?” 

“Yes, Ser Arthur, Robb Stark will marry Arianne, thus, finally binding his house to ours.”

Now Arthur found his turn to laugh. “You do not truly believe that Ned Stark would call his banners to overthrow the very man he helped put on the throne, do you? I admit; there is little love lost between King Robert and Ned. After the sacking of King’s Landing and the death of his sister, he saw Robert for the man he is. The entire realm knows that he refused the handship when the court rode north. However, if you think his dislike for his former friend makes him a candidate for your conspiracy, then you do not understand the honor that man lives by.”

“’Ned’…how nice, Ser Arthur, after fourteen years in that frozen wasteland, you finally made yourself another friend.” Doran veiled his insult in an air of courtesy. “No, I do not suspect that the noble ‘Ned’ Stark would declare open rebellion against House Baratheon, but what of his son?” 

_Does he mean to kill the father so he can wield the son?_ Ser Arthur stood from his chair, “so it will be murder and lies, Doran? If you resort to those means, you are no better than the Lannister. Pray that your brother will be able cut me down before inform the Starks of your plan!” 

The cacophonic clatter tore through the melodic song of laughter that emanated pools as both Dornishmen stood from their chairs reaching for their daggers, poised to strike. 

“Please!” Shouted Prince Doran, before either warrior could spilled blood. “You misunderstand my intentions, Ser Arthur. I only mean that our war may only need to wait until Robb takes up his seat beside my daughter. Once I step down as Prince of Dorne, it will fall to Arianne to carry out our vengeance.”

The Viper stared at his brother though his dagger remained trained on Arthur. “Abdication? Brother, what is the meaning of this?”

Sickly and drained, Prince Doran’s age began to show as he turned his head, looking out over the children playing in the crystal pools of his garden. “I now fear that I will not live to see the debt of blood paid. Since Elia’s death, I have been content with my role as the grass that hides the viper. However, I will surely die too soon if the game continues at this pace. The weathered prince carried on, as if talking only to himself. “Therefore, I now must act out of character; I must now be brazen. True, Eddard Stark will not rise in rebellion for our cause, but nor will he leave his son defenseless if the boy should be persuaded to rise in his place.”

Prince Doran finally turned back towards Arthur, rigid determination etched across his face. “And I assure you, Ser Arthur Dayne, my daughter can be very persuasive.”


End file.
